The Way to Your Heart
by parttimeficwriter
Summary: The say the way to a mans heart is through his stomach, but what about the way to a womans? Harry Ruth fluff post S9.
1. Chapter 1

**The Way to Your Heart.**

**This was inspired by a theme that has been explored in a few fics lately. My brain being what it is decided to put a slight twist on it and the idea will not leave me alone. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending how you look at it, it seems to have taken on a life of its own so there will undoubtedly be more to follow. **

**I own nothing but my imagination.

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Harry sighed heavily as he prowled around the front room of his house. As loathed as he was to admit it, he was bored and was beginning to get increasingly frustrated with the lack of things to occupy him. He was unused to spending this much time at home and he was already longing for his return to work. God only knew how he was going to cope if this _situation_ became permanent; it was only day three and he was going out of his mind already. He wondered, idly, if perhaps he had been too efficient in his approach to his enforced sabbatical as he had already visited the bank and the dry cleaners, caught up on the washing and ironing, done the supermarket shopping and had even ventured up in to the loft to tidy away all the items that had been waiting on the landing for the past three months. There was no DIY to be done and it was too cold and miserable to bother with the garden. The only thing left was to take Scarlet out for a walk but a quick glance in her direction confirmed that she was asleep in front of the fire. He smiled fondly at her and realised that the old girl was probably exhausted after their long walk first thing that morning. Shaking his head at himself he realised that he had probably walked her more often, and further, in the last three days than he had in the past three years. Resigned to the fact that there was little else to do other than see what delights daytime television held in store for him he flopped down onto the couch and made himself comfortable which, inevitably, was the same moment the doorbell rang. Muttering to himself about sod's law he hoisted himself back upright, marched to the front door and yanked it open to find himself face to face with the postman.

"Hello," Harry greeted him, warily, even if he was secretly pleased to have had his boredom interrupted.

"Sign here mate," the postie replied, gruffly, shoving a PDA into his hands as he did so, "Got a parcel for ya."

Harry automatically scribbled something unintelligible on the electronic pad and then looked at the package the postman now held in his hands. One eyebrow raised itself in curiosity as he silently appraised the parcel.

"Jeez, mate, it's not a bomb you know," the postman informed him with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

"An expert are you?" Harry drawled, eyes flicking upwards, challenge clearly evident in the brown depths.

"More than you are, I'd wager," he grunted, cockily, as he thrust the package into Harry's midsection giving him little option but to reach for it. "Amazon don't tend to send parcel bombs in my experience. You want to be less paranoid, mate." His parting shot delivered the postman sloped off back to his van leaving an annoyed Harry to silently fume on his doorstep.

He was still irked some twenty minutes later and sat glaring at the parcel that now lay on his kitchen table. Whilst he had to admit that it didn't appear to be ticking and that, on closer inspection, it looked, and felt, distinctly book like he still felt that some paranoia was healthy in his line of work. Especially when he'd never even visited the amazon website let alone ordered anything from it. Eventually though, common sense, and curiosity, got the better of him and deciding that there were far more sophisticated, and less messy, ways for someone to kill him he reached for the package and carefully ripped the cardboard open. Inside, nestled between the folded cardboard, was a cook book.

"Ministry of Food. Jamie Oliver," he read aloud, confusion etched across his face. "What on earth…"

A sheet of white paper poking out of the box caught his attention and he snatched it up hoping for some sort of explanation. He was not disappointed.

_I thought this might be the cheaper option in the long term. Put the tuna and crisps away. _

_Ruth x_

For the first time, in what felt like a life time, he smiled happily. The note itself was simple, the message behind it as clear to him now as her food parcels had been all those years ago. She _cared_, and what's more, she wanted him to know that she did. He delighted in the fact that she had ignored the directive to have no contact with him and toyed with the idea of sending her a message. He wondered what she might say if he told her he was in need of helper but then, as he reached for his phone, he was struck by an even better idea.

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Ruth struggled through the door of her flat and into the dark hallway after an exceedingly long day at the office. The emptiness of the flat seemed to envelop her as she moved through it, flicking the lights on and shucking her coat and boots off as she went. She was reluctant to admit it but brash and annoying as Beth had been at times, it had been nice to have someone to come home to in the evenings. Sighing loudly she made her way to the kitchen trying to remember as she went what food, if any, she had left in the house. That was another thing she missed, someone remembering to buy food. She was stood pondering the meagre contents of her fridge, trying to work out if an onion omelette was appealing to her, when the doorbell rang. Thinking it might be Beth calling to collect the last of her belongings she shut the fridge and went to open the door.

"Hello?" she said, a little uncertain as she took in the young man that stood on the other side of the door.

"Hi," he greeted, warmly, "I have a delivery for you." He lifted his right hand and dangled the keep warm food carrier in front of her.

"But I didn't order anything," she said, warily.

"You're Ruth Evershed?"

"Er, yes. Yes, that's me, but-"

"Then it's definitely for you," he assured her before thrusting it into her hand. "Bye!"

"Wait! I haven't paid!"

"Don't worry," he smiled, preparing to don his crash helmet, "it's all been taken care of."

Very confused by the whole exchange she took the small bag in to the kitchen placed it on the counter and set about examining the contents. The first thing she noticed was the delicious smell that wafted out as she unzipped the bag and her stomach gave a loud, appreciative growl at the smell. The second thing she noticed was the notepaper tucked down the side of a metal takeaway carton. She reached for the note, her heart rate increasing as she opened it to find some very familiar handwriting.

_I needed a guinea pig and I thought you might be willing._

_Harry xx_

She smiled widely at the unexpected but certainly not unwelcome gesture and decided to tuck in as soon as possible. In less than two minutes she was sat in front of the television with a laden tray feeling happier than she had done in months.

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**TBC…**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews make my day :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I promised fluff after the full on angst of my last fic and here it is. It's not how I'd originally intended to write it but I think I lost track of it when I broke off to write something else. Hopefully, it won't be too much of a disappointment. There's at least another chapter, possibly two, still to write.**

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Ruth drummed her fingers against the kitchen counter as she stared at the phone handset standing proudly in front of her. She was, once again, debating with herself as to whether she should ring Harry or not. On the one hand she wasn't supposed to be in contact with him in any way, shape or form. On the other hand she had already broken that rule by sending him the cook book. And then she'd broken it again every night since by accepting the food parcels he sent. In the grand scheme of things she didn't think that a phone call would matter too much and surely, she reasoned, MI-5 had better things to do with their time than check her phone records. She hated not being able to talk to him and it felt so very wrong not to thank him personally for the food parcels and, really, she hated bad manners. With a decisive nod she snatched up the phone and dialled his number from memory.

-xxx-

"Hello?"

"Hi," she said, voice a little breathless from the nerves that gripped her stomach at the sound of him, "it's me. Ruth."

"Hi," he purred, happily, hiding his surprise well, "how was the food?"

"Delicious," she told him, enthusiastically, "I'm going to tend up terribly fat if you carry on."

Harry faltered for a moment and a small silence engulfed them both. "Is that your way of telling me to stop?" he asked, quietly, desperately trying to keep his tone light despite the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"No! No, I, that's not-" she trailed off flustered, unsure how their conversation had skittered off the rails so suddenly. They had to be the only two adults she knew that struggled to have a basic conversation. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts she took a deep breath, pulled herself together and said, "I'm selfish enough to hope that you don't get tired of it, Harry."

"You're allowed to be selfish sometimes, Ruth" he murmured, warmth and affection colouring his voice once more, "Anyway, as it turns out, I'm enjoying cooking for you."

"That's, er, that's good, then."

"Yes, so now you can relax and just enjoy you meals on wheels." Her answering laugh sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine and he smiled broadly in to the phone as he pictured her face.

"How are you?"

"I've been worse," he answered, smiling at her concern, "I'm slowly learning to relax and enjoy my time off. I even managed eight hours sleep the other night!"

"Now you're just showing off," she teased, "I can't remember the last time I had a lie-in never mind a full night's sleep."

"An early night then," he suggested, "no time like the present."

"Ah but then I won't have the pleasure of your company." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she could have hit herself. There was a very pregnant pause from both ends as they frantically try not to suggest a remedy to that problem.

"Just promise me you'll get some rest," he said, eventually, not wanting to push too far too fast, "you do sound tired."

"I am," she agreed, softly, "some well-meaning, but incredibly daft man, got himself suspended and we're all working extra hard to make sure that he still has a job to come back to."

"I'm sorry, Ruth. Truly. I didn't mean for all this to happen."

"Don't apologise, Harry. I didn't say it to make you feel bad, I just wanted you to know that we haven't moved on from you," she paused and took a deep breath, "that _I_ haven't moved on from you."

"Well, that's one to ponder," he sighed, happily.

"Yes," she said, smiling, "Now, tell me what you've been up to…"

-xxx-

And so it began. Every evening she would return home to find a new food parcel waiting for her. She would reheat it and then enjoy it with a glass of wine before slipping in to her PJ's and ringing Harry. Mostly she would wander about the flat, doing this and that as they chatted but sometimes, if she was feeling very tired, he would coax her into climbing in to bed early. She would slip under the cool sheets and let his voice warm her as he told her about his day or read aloud articles from the paper he thought she would be interested in. Harry never asked her about work and Ruth never told him what was going on. Instead he asked her about all the things he had ever wondered about her. He found out that she loved daffodils and would prefer a handful of freshly picked ones from the garden to a bouquet of roses. She told him of the unhappy summer she had spent trapped inside the house when she was 8 years old thanks to an ill-timed bout of chicken pox and then laughed when he told her that he'd been 34 when he caught it from Catherine and had spent the entire time being told off by her for scratching and picking his scabs. They learnt one another slowly, opening up more as the days passed by until somewhere, in the midst of it all, without even realising what was happening, they fell in love all over again.

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**Leave a review and let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Apologies for the wait between chapters, there's no excuse for it other than a fairly hectic life and a bit of laziness! As with most things I've ever written this chapter took a few unexpected turns and ended up, a) far longer and b) slightly more random, than was originally intended. It almost took an unexpected detour to smutsville but I managed to reign myself in at the last minute, sorry to disappoint the smutee's :-p**

**Ramble over.**

**I imagine this takes place at least a week or so after the previous chapter. **

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"Shit!" Ruth exclaimed as she rummaged about in the cupboard underneath her sink.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, worried that something was wrong. Sometimes talking on the phone was a real disadvantage as he couldn't tell if there was an actual problem or not.

"Oh nothing," she sighed, heavily, and closed the door with a satisfying slam, "I've run out of washing powder."

"Ah."

"And now you think I'm being melodramatic," she huffed, playfully.

"I never said a word!"

"You didn't have to; I know you." Harry chuckled deep in his throat and she felt her insides tighten at the sound of it. "Sorry I'm being grumpy."

"I'm used to it," he teased and enjoyed listening to her splutter in indignation down the receiver. "Why so grumpy, anyway?"

"Rubbish week," she confided, softly, and he wished he could share the burden of it with her, "and my flat is a total tip because I've not been home enough to do any cleaning." Irritated with herself for spending her time with Harry moaning she blew out a breath and plastered a smile on her face, "sorry, Harry, I shouldn't be moaning on."

"I quite like hearing you grumble about things," he told her, honestly, "it's really rather sexy when you get all worked up."

"_Sexy_?" She sounded far from convinced but was unable to stop the girlish smile that graced her face at the fact that he had just called her sexy.

"Mmmm," he paused for a second and then added, cheekily, "Tell me you've run out of washing powder again…"

"You're laughing at me," she complained, pouting down the phone.

"I am not," he replied, instantly, in what he hoped was a soothing tone, "I think you're incredibly sexy."

"I can hear you smiling, Harry."

He rolled his eyes at her and shook his head, despite the fact that she couldn't see him. "Don't be daft, Ruth, you can't _hear_ a smile."

He was teasing her. She tried not to sound like she was enjoying herself as she instantly countered, "Are you smiling?"

"I couldn't possibly comment."

"That's a yes then," she crowed, triumphant.

"Not necessarily."

"Oh Harry, I _know _you," she said, affectionately, "I've heard you on the phone more times than I can count. I've analysed every nuance of every conversation we've ever had. Believe me when I tell you that I know the smiley Harry tone."

"The smiley Harry tone?" he echoed, amused and more than a little thrilled at her admission.

"See," she said, happily, "there it is again. Admit it, I make you smile."

"Yes, you do," he said softly and her stomach fluttered at the gentleness of his tone, "in the most delightful and unexpected of ways."

"I think that's the best compliment I've ever had."

"I'm sure I can think of some better ones, given time," he whispered, playfully.

"How much time?" she asked, eagerly and then did a happy twirl as she heard his laughter down the phone. She allowed herself to drift away in to the happy place where their conversations took place, forgetting about anything other than his voice and the way he made her feel. They talked long in to the night and when she fell asleep, she thought of him and smiled.

-XXX-

Harry let himself in to the empty flat and pushed away the momentary twinge of guilt he felt at being there without her knowledge. He gave himself a firm reminder of the reason he was there and surveyed the disarray surrounding him, smiling as he did so. She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd claimed it was a tip. Girding himself, he took a deep breath and looked down at the bucket filled with an assortment of cleaning products that rested in his hand.

"Cometh the hour, cometh the cleaner," he murmured softly to himself before heading for the kitchen with a determined stride.

-XXX-

It was decidedly late by the time Ruth set foot inside her flat. It had been a long day and she was feeling particularly grumpy about things. She had hoped to get home at a decent hour and spend the better part of the evening talking with Harry but, as ever, her plans had been thwarted by whispers of a terrorist plot. Disappointed, she had discreetly sent him a text telling him she was unlikely to make it home that night and not to send any food for her. As it was, the best she could hope for was some toast and a cup of tea before crawling into bed.

Sighing heavily she flicked the lights on and stumbled her way to the kitchen, kicking off her boots as she went. On autopilot she switched the kettle on and turned to the sink intending to rinse the dirty cups she had dumped in there that morning only to be greeted with a spotlessly clean sink. Brow wrinkled with confusion she pivoted slowly and actually looked at her surroundings. The surfaces practically gleamed in the bright light of the kitchen and it was in a distinctly better state than she had left it in. A slow smile started to form on her lips and, tea forgotten about; she went to check the rest of the place.

-XXX-

Unable to resist the urge to speak with him, she dialled his number from memory and crossed her fingers that he wouldn't be too upset with her for ringing at this hour.

Surprising her, he answered on the second ring. "Hello, you."

"Hi," she breathed, overwhelmed by her feelings for him, "I wasn't sure you'd still be up."

"I was waiting for you," he told her, truthfully. She read the underlying meaning to his words and was touched by his concern for her.

"Sorry it's so late."

"You don't need to apologise, Ruth. I do understand that some days are impossibly busy."

She smiled softly and wished she could see him. "I don't think I've been the only one that's been busy today."

"Is that so?"

"Uh huh," she murmured, "it seems I've had a visit from the cleaning fairy."

"I've been called many things, Ruth," he growled, playfully, "but a fairy isn't one of them." She laughed gently and the sound of it made him ridiculously pleased. "I'm a knight of the realm, I'll have you know."

She giggled as she pictured the look of mock outrage on his face. "Doesn't have quite the same ring to it though, does it?"

"No but I think I'd prefer to be thought of as your knight in shining armour."

She cleared her throat and resisted the temptation to tell him that he's always been that in her mind. "I'll bear that in mind."

"Make sure you do," he growled, good naturedly, enjoying their silliness until he heard her trying to stifle a yawn. "Bed time for you I think, Ruth."

"In a bit. I want to talk to you first," she said, between yawns, now that she'd started it seemed she couldn't stop. "I've missed you."

His heart swelled at her tired confession. "I've missed you too," he murmured, "get in to bed and we'll talk until you fall asleep."

"Ok," she agreed, too tired to argue, "but only if you do too."

"How do you know I'm not already in bed?" he asked, bringing her up short.

"Are you?" He could hear the interest in her voice and chuckled happily. The very notion that she was intrigued at the thought of him in bed did wonders for his ego and gave him hope that, when they were able to see one another again, they would finally be more than just friends and colleagues.

"Yes, now do as you're told and get ready for bed." There was a flurry of movement as she walked in to the bedroom and threw the phone on top of the bed. Harry lay in bed and pictured her as she scurried around the room, getting herself ready for bed. A loud rustling alerted him to the fact that she was crawling under the covers and he smiled as she came back on to the line, slightly breathless from the sudden activity.

"I'm back," she told him, unnecessarily, as she shuffled about noisily.

"Comfy?" he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"Yes, thanks."

"Good," he murmured, "now close your eyes and let me tell you how difficult it is not to ask you what you're wearing."

Her laugh was warm and sleepy and quite possibly the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. "Pyjama's."

"Me too," he purred, "just in case you were wondering."

She snorted lightly and he wondered if perhaps he had gone a little too far. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"My sheets smell like you." It took him a moment to realise that she wasn't telling him off and then a further one to work out what she was talking about.

"Oh, you said you'd run out of powder so I brought some with me," he explained, slightly embarrassed. There was a long pause and he wondered if he'd upset her somehow.

"When I close my eyes it's almost as if you're here with me," she whispered, eventually, making his heart beat ridiculously fast, "s'nice." Her breathing softened and he realised that she'd fallen asleep on him, he listened to her for a few minutes more before whispering his love for her and leaving her to sleep.

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**Please leave a review. One more chapter to go. **


	4. Chapter 4

**What follows is quite possibly the longest telephone conversation ever, I can only apologise for the fact that I so obviously got a bit carried away. That being said I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**A huge thank you to everyone for their reviews of this story, they are all greatly appreciated and inspire me to do better and write more. **

**I'm going to dedicate this chapter to Espyio who's review for the last chapter came startlingly close to my plan. Here's the 10 out of 10 ;-)**

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"It's just so bloody typical," she told him, unhappily, as she paced the floor of her living room, "the first weekend in months that I have off and plan to do something, and what happens? An emergency summit! So now it's all off and I have to work."

Harry was more than a little stunned by her outburst and, if he was honest, more than a little upset at the thought that she had had plans for the weekend and hadn't mentioned it to him once. He wondered if she had finished and was just about to say something when she started speaking again. "So now my kitchen is never going to get painted and-"

"Wait," he said, cutting her off mid rant, "that was what you had planned? Painting?"

"Yes," she answered, defensively, "I've finally decided to make my mark on the flat. Make it a home."

"Oh, right. Good. That's good."

"Why? What did you think I was doing?"

"Nothing," he said, quietly, "I didn't think anything."

"Harry?

"Ruth."

"You're not-" she faltered, unsure how to phrase herself, "you didn't-"

"What?"

God he could be irritating at times. She recognised that tone; had been on the receiving end of it more than once and could picture the exact look that would be on his face. She'd obviously hit a nerve and now, more than ever, she wanted to know if her instincts had been correct. "You didn't think I had something of a _romantic _nature planned, did you?"

"Of course not."

"Harry Pearce," she said, levelly, "you're jealous."

"Of a tin of paint," he scoffed, "I don't think so Ruth."

He was jealous. Most definitely jealous and she felt like doing a happy little jig around the kitchen because of it. "You didn't know that I'd planned to paint," she gloated and he found that he no longer wanted to hide his feelings from her; not when they had come so far.

"No, I didn't," he replied, his voice returning to the soft, soothing purr she was so fond of, "what colour have you gone for?"

"A warm terracotta," she answered, without missing a beat, "stop trying to change the subject!"

"We were talking about painting, Ruth, I'm entirely _on_ subject."

"Harry," she growled, losing her patience slightly.

"Are we fighting?" He sounded both shocked and amused at the thought and she fought hard to stop herself from smiling.

"I think we might be," she said, feigning a level of sadness that she didn't actually feel.

"Hmm," he muttered, thoughtfully, "any chance we can skip to the part where we kiss and make up?"

Her soft laughter floated down the telephone line and he smiled lovingly at the sound of it. "Only if you admit you were jealous."

"Ok. Yes. I was."

"There's no need to be," she told him, seriously, "Jealous I mean. There's only me and the tin of paint here."

He laughed lightly and felt his fears finally melt away. "Glad to hear it."

"Might as well get used to admiring it in the tin, hadn't I?" she grumbled, pleased that they seemed to be back on an even keel.

"Most people are glad of an excuse not to do DIY, Ruth."

"I'm not most people," she shot back.

"That, I can most certainly vouch for," he said, lovingly, "but I'm beginning to think that there's something else bothering you." When all he heard in reply was her blowing out a frustrated breath he realised he was right. "Ruth?"

Her response, when it finally came after much sighing and stubborn silence, was muted and embarrassed and he could imagine her directing her words to the floor. "I don't want to go away for the weekend."

"Why?" he asked, gently, despite the sudden beating of his heart.

"Because I won't be able to speak to you," she said in a rush, "I feel stupid now I've said it but there it is. It's hard enough only being able to speak with you over the phone but at least it's _something_."

Harry felt elated and heartbroken at the same time and cursed himself for getting them both into this mess. It hurt him to know that he was the cause of her distress and promised himself to do something about it. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that I hate the idea of you going away too?"

"Yes."

"Then feel better, sweetheart, because I'm really going to miss you."

"You called me sweetheart," she pointed out, grinning to herself.

"Er, yes, I suppose I did. It just sort of slipped out," he murmured, suddenly worried that he might have offended her, "Does it bother you?"

He sounded worried she thought and she wondered, not for the first time, how they could be so unsure of each other at times. "It doesn't bother me at all," she answered, warmly, hoping to reassure him.

"Good," he breathed, "that's good."

Deciding that they had been serious for long enough, Ruth tried to recapture some of their earlier flirtatious banter by lowering her voice, to what she hoped was a seductive purr. "Should I think of a suitable name for you whilst I'm away this weekend?"

"Please do," he replied, delighting in the tingle that ran through him at the sound of her voice.

"Actually, I have one already," she admitted.

"Oh?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you what it is!"

He loved it when she was playful like this. "That doesn't sound fair, Ruth."

"It'll give you something to think about over the weekend," she said, amused.

"You fill my thoughts enough as it is, Ruth."

"Do I?" she asked, sounding inordinately pleased by the prospect."

"Most definitely," he growled, roguishly, "so, really, you should take pity on an old man and tell me now."

"No!" she said, firmly, enjoying herself immensely.

"Darling?" he purred and she was caught for a moment, unsure whether he was guessing or referring to her. "No, to obvious," she heard him say to himself and she realised he was still playing.

"Definitely not darling," she confirmed.

"Harrykins?" he asked as seriously as possible enjoying the horrified splutter she gave.

"Not likely, Harry," she told him between giggles. How she had ever missed this side of him she didn't know.

"A hunk a hunk of burning love…"he sang to her in his best Elvis voice.

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Oh! Wait, I know…"he said, pausing dramatically, "The Sex God Formerly Known as Harry Pearce."

Unable to fight it any longer Ruth gave in to the peals of laughter that had been bubbling inside her. She threw herself down on to the couch, collapsing in a heap as she tried to breathe through her laughter.

"I'm serious, Ruth," he chided, keen to keep her laughing and happy, "I could change my name into a symbol…"

-XXX-

**4 days later.**

The weekend away had, as she had expected, been long and thoroughly tedious. It hadn't been helped by the fact that the replacement Section Head had gone AWOL part way through the second day and, as the most senior member of the team, she had been left to pick up the pieces in his absence. Fortunately though, she was on her way home to her eagerly anticipated phone call with Harry. For the first time since joining MI-5 Ruth had not returned to the Grid immediately after the operation had ended, she had told a shocked Dimitri and Tariq that the debrief report could wait and that she had better things to do. She had texted Harry as soon as she was on the bus, feeling decidedly girlish and giddy about the prospect of hearing his voice after so long. She wondered what he'd been up to and immersed herself in thoughts of him all the way home.

-XXX-

As soon as she pushed the door open she could tell that something was different. The lights were on. Her heart began to beat ridiculously fast as she dared herself to walk in and see what awaited her. Her breath caught as she spotted the table, set up for a romantic dinner for two and she laughed softly as she noted that the flowers in the centre were not roses but daffodils; he'd remembered. A sound from the kitchen alerted her to his whereabouts and she could barely contain herself as she got her first glimpse of him for months. He was leaner she thought but still so very handsome and her stomach did somersaults at the sight of him. She watched him silently as he moved around her kitchen putting the final touches to something before he leant down and placed it in the oven.

"Welcome home," he murmured, softly, turning to face her as he did so. By rights he should have looked ridiculous in the bright red 'Keep Calm and Carry On' apron he was sporting but it only made him look more endearing to her.

"Oh God," she choked, half laughing-half crying at the sight of him, "Harry."

Three strides were all it took for him to be standing so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body. His hand reached up and she felt the backs of his fingers graze the swell of her cheek; she hadn't realised she was crying until she felt him brushing hear tears away. "Ssssh sweetheart, it's alright. Don't cry."

"You're here," she whispered, in amazement as she placed her hands flat against his solid chest, "you're really here."

"I am."

"But-"

He smiled at her gently and covered the hand on his chest that rested against his heart. "It's all finished with now. I resigned on Friday morning." She looked at him in astonishment and was about to say something when he squeezed her hand gently, and gave her an amused grin, "I was re-instated on Friday afternoon."

"Really?" she asked, happily.

"Really."

"I can't believe it's all over," she sighed, entranced by the look in his eyes, "I can't believe you're here, in my kitchen, in my apron-"

"In your heart?" he asked, hopefully.

"Always," she whispered, eyes brimming with tears once more, "you always have been, Harry."

She felt him tug on her hand, pulling her off balance until her body collided with his. She lifted her face at the same time he titled his down and their lips brushed together effortlessly. Later there would be time for him to be grateful that he had found the way to her heart and for her to acknowledge that he was the only man who ever had but; for now it was enough for them to be clinched together in the middle of her kitchen, mouths and hearts firmly connected.

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**Please leave a final review, thank you. **


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